Class 



BookJ 




Author. 



1916 



Title 



Imprint 



16—30299-1 




Memories 



ALONG THE WAY FROM 
EARLY MORN TO 
EVENING TWILIGHT 



ELLA M. HOSTETLER 



H 



MEMORIES 



ALONG THE WAY 
FROM EARLY MORN 
TO EVENING TWILIGHT 



"^ ELLA M. HOSTETLER ' 






.A;- 



Entered according to the act of Congress in the office of the 
Librarian of Congress, A. D. 1916 
by Ella M. Hostetler->/ 
Shelton, Nebraska 



Reserre Sterage 




©CIA455013 v<^' 

THE WOODRUFF PRESS 

LINCOLN, NEBRASKA 



It was my intention to gather together 
some Christmas verses, and short, 
bright stories, full of spice and life, and 
use as a folder to take the place of a 
Christmas card; but one poem changed 
my thoughts into a more reminiscent 
nature, and if through the open 
shutters of my life-story you are able 
to bring to you in memory your child- 
hood days again, and those whom your 
heart holds dear, your Christmas will 
be one of love and joy. 

ELLA M. HOSTETLER 



\ 



A SONG FOR CHRISTMAS 

Chant me a rhyme of Christmas — 

Sing me a jovial song — 
And though it is filled with laughter, 

Let it be pure and strong. 

Sing of the hearts brimmed over 

With the story of the day — 
Of the echo of childish voices 

That will not die away. 

Of the blare of the tasseled bugle, 

And timeless clatter and beat 
Of the drum that throbs to muster 

Squadrons of scampering feet. 

But, oh, let your voice fall fainter. 

Till blent with a minor tone. 
You temper your sun with the beauty 

Of the pity Christ hath shown. 

And sing one verse for the voiceless; 

And yet, ere the song be done, 
A verse for the ears that hear not. 

And a verse for the sightless one. 

For though it be time for singing 

A merry Christmas glee. 
Let a low, sweet voice of pathos 

Run through the melody. 

— James Whitcomb Riley. 



DAWN 

The memory of our mother teaching her two little chil- 
dren to sing the hymn on the opposite page and "Little 
Drops of Water" stands out clearest of all things in the 
morning of my life. Sometimes with our heads bowed at 
her knee she sang with us. They were the first things we 
were taught to sing. My little brother Charley thought 
it real fun, and I cannot recall any other occasion where 
his face shown with more perfect happiness. 

Later years proved our mother's supreme courage and 
Christian faith and fortitude, for even then she knew 
she was suffering from an illness that would be fatal, of 
which we had no knowledge or understanding. When 
she, a young mother of thirty-six years, left us a few 
years later and the sound of her voice was still, that voice 
stayed with me in this hymn and I pray it always may. 



THE GOOD SHEPHERD 

Savior, like a shepherd lead us; 
Much we need thy tender care ; 
In thy pleasant pastures feed us; 
For our use thy folds prepare. 

Blessed Jesus ! 
Thou hast bought us, thine we are. 

We are thine do thou befriend us, 
Be the guardian of our way ; 
Keep thy flock, from sin defend us. 
See us when we go astray. 

Blessed Jesus ! 
Hear young children when they pray. 



LINES BY WALT WHITMAN 

We know not what it is, dear, this sleep so deep and 

still, 
The folded hands, the awful calm, the cheek so pale and 

chill ; 
The lids that will not lift again, though we may call and 

call. 
The strange, white solitude of peace that settles over all. 

We know not what it means, dear, this desolate heart- 
pain, 

This dread to take our daily way, and walk in it again ; 

We know not to what other sphere the loved who leave 
us go, 

Nor why we're left to wonder still ; nor why we do 
not know. 

But this we know, our loved and dead, if they should 

come this day — 
Should come and ask us, ''What is life?" not one of us 

could say. 
Life is a mystery as deep as ever death can be ; 
Yet, oh how sweet it is to us, this life we live and see ! 

Then might they say, — these vanished ones — and blessed 

is the thought : 
"So death is sweet to us, beloved; though we may tell 

ye naught. 
We may not tell it to the quick — this mystery of death — 
Ye may not tell us, if ye would, the mystery of breath." 

The child who enters life comes not with knowledge or 

intent. 
So those who enter death must go as little children sent. 
Nothing is known ; but I believe that God is overhead, 
And as life is to the living, so death is to the dead. 



OUR FATHER 

How we loved to have him toss us up ahiiost to the 
ceiling — Charley and me. I remember we each wanted 
to be first, or to have him carry us both on his shoulders. 
I remember, too, when he gave me a handful of salt to 
catch a bird I wanted. I must have been very young — a 
mere toddler- — but round and round I went in my efforts, 
and the laughter of our father and ''uncle" Jim Clark is 
as fresh today and their faces as plain as a picture seen 
yesterday. 

Then came the cruel war of '61, and our father went 
away. He waved good-bye as the train rounded the 
curve beyond the Hillsboro station, and a young mother 
and two clinging children were left to battle at home. 

"ihe bravest battle that ever was fought was fought 
bv the mothers of men." 



11 



FROM THE FRONT 

The next time we saw our father he was brought 
home from Louisville, Kentucky, by our mother, who 
had gone to him with fresh linens and nursed him 
through typhoid fever and a light form of smallpox, both 
at the same time. He fell ill at Corinth, Mississippi, in 
'Gl, and was sent to Louisville. The best of his life to a 
great extent had been spent in helping to preserve the 
Union. He recovered sufficiently, however, to serve 
faithfully and courageously as deputy provost marshal 
to April 3, 1865. He had been first lieutenant, First Ohio 
Volunteer Cavalry. 

He had also served as an officer in the American army 
in the war with Mexico in 1846-47. 

Our father had principles which dominated his life; 
none were stronger than his honesty. As an example of 
that Charley and I knew where fine berries grew, on a 
steep hillside on a vacant lot near our home. We helped 
ourselves without permission to the extent of a dishful 
for our father's breakfast. After arranging them tempt- 
ingly, we sat by to take notice, and enjoy his surprise. 
He soon found where they came from, and as fast as 
our feet could carry us we were sent to Mrs. Burns (the 
owner of the vacant lot) with the berries and to acknowl- 
edge our wrong doing. Humiliating as it was, we knew 

12 



later we had been given a lesson in discipline that would 
safeguard us in that way all our lives. 

So many little faults we find, 

We see them, for not blind 

Is love. We see them, but if you and I 

Perhaps remember them some bye and bye, 

They will not be 

Faults then — grave faults — to you and me, 

But just odd ways, mistakes, or even less — 

Remembrances to bless. 

Days change so many things — yes, hours, 

We see so differently in suns and showers ; 

Mistaken words tonight 

May be so cherished by tomorrow's light. 

We may be patient, for we know 

There's such a little way to go. 

To Aunt Margaret Richards Gregg, 
To my mother's cousins, 

Frank and Mary Huffman, 
Nelson and Nannie Huffman, 
and the host of friends in Ohio, West Virginia, Nebras- 
ka, and elsewhere who have given me their lasting friend- 
ship from childhood to the present time ; and to those 
whose friendship came later and abides with me, I use 
the words of the poet, Edward A. Guest, in expressing my 
appreciation and gratitude: 

"I'd like to be the sort of friend that you have been 



13 



A FRIEND'S GREETING 

I'd like to be the sort of friend that you have been to me, 
I'd Hke to be the help that you've been always glad to be, 
I'd like to mean as much to you each minute of the day 
As you have meant, old friend of mine, to me along the 
way. 

I'd like to do the big things and the splendid things for 

you, 
To brush the grey from out your skies and leave them 

only blue; 
I'd like to say the kind things that I so oft have heard. 
And feel that I could rouse your soul the way that mine 

you've stirred. 

I'd like to give you back the joy that you have given me, 
Yet that were wishing you a need I hope will never be; 
I'd like to make you feel as rich as I, who travel on 
Undaunted in the darkest hours with you to lean upon. 

I'm wishing at this Christmas time that I could but repay 
A portion of the gladness that you've strewn along my 

way. 
And could I have one wish this year, this wish would 

only be : 
I'd like to be the sort of friend that you have been to me. 



14 



OUT TO GRANDPA'S HOME 

Did you have a grandpa's home in the country to visit 
when you were a child? If you did not you have missed 
something deHghtful in your hfe, especially if it were 
such a home as that of our Grandpa Richards. He lived 

two miles south of H on the Belfast pike. When we 

first knew that road it was not macadamized and the 
yellow clay made bad travel in the winter time, the older 
people said. 

Sometimes in pleasant summer weather our mother 
would take us children and walk to grandpa's. She usu- 
ally carried a lunch for us, and we chose a certain log 
about half way out to rest on and eat the lunch. When 
we came in sight of the log we were never so tired that 
we could not run to see who would get there first. (Years 
after my mother and brother left me, I watched that log 
as it grew less and less in size, until only a dark spot on 
the ground showed where it had been. Today there is 
not a trace of it, we do not know the exact spot where it 
was, yet I never forget the dear ones as I pass that 
way.) Often we went along the ''old creek road'* close 
to Rocky Fork, with its flat, stone bottom, and we would 
run out on the stones, or wade in the water, which was 
as clear as crystal. Then we went through the sugar 
camp where they gathered the sap from the beautiful 
sugar-maple trees very early in the spring and would 
boil it down until it became sugar. From the creek to 
the house was a rocky climb, but the house with the dear 
ones was our goal. The first thing we always did 

15 



was to run to grandma's bread jar, and with the sweet 
smile that I still see, she saw we were satisfied. Then 
out we ran, down a long hillside that had a very narrow 
path, past the spring house at the foot of the hill, and 
up another hill to the most wonderful grapevine swings, 
intended surely for the numerous grandchildren who 
gathered there. What glorious times we had. 

When we grew tired of that we ran scampering over 
the hills where grew the butternuts, and walnuts, and 
hickory-nuts. And over the fence in the new orchard 
were fine apples of many varieties. Those we remember 
best were the Pound Pippin. All over those hills in the 
woods grew to as great perfection as any we have seen 
cultivated, the wild Sweet William, with its large clus- 
ters of pink blossoms. A tiny streami we called a 
''branch" of water wound its way at the base of the hills, 
and under some fine, large trees watered by this branch 
we found the purple, and the white, and the yellow wood 
violets in great numbers. It is the only place where I 
ever found them together in all those colors. 

There was a garden not far from the house, fenced 
in with very high boards, too high for children or chick- 
ens to molest. So many good things came from it, yet 
we do not ever remember seeing anyone at work in it. 
Once in a great while we were permitted to walk de- 
corously through it with grandma. On the other side 
of the house near the ''old house" was the peach orchard, 
and all we had to do was to step over the fence and help 
ourselves. It is too bad that that vareity of peach has 
become extinct. It must be, for we have never since 
tasted any with that flavor. There was a melon patch 
somewhere; we were told not to hunt for it, and while 
we felt pretty sure we located the spot from the top of 

16 



the rail fence, we kept the rule. I can see grandpa now 
coming up the path, his eyes twinkling and his face laugh- 
ing all over as he hugged a large melon in his arms. It 
was then we pulled our chairs up to the table on the 
porch while grandpa cut the melon and passed it around. 
The Rocky Ford melons don't compare to those either in 
color or sweetness. All these things were part of our 
paradise. Our older half-brother, Will, had lived at 
grandpa's since his mother died when he was two years 
of age; his mother was Grandpa Richards' daughter. 
He \vas too old to play with us. 

Grandpa's house seemed large and roomy then. There 
never was any apparent trouble in caring for us and all 
the Locust Grove relatives at the same time; and from 
down in the country south of us away from the railroad 
where the hills are much higher, and the people had to 
come to H to buy their merchandise. It was a well- 
known fact that after their day's business in town was 
done, many made it a rule to get to grandpa's about 
sundown, engage grandpa in conversation, tell him they 
knew his son, the doctor, down their way. Whereupon 
grandpa would usually invite them to stop over night, 
caring for the family and the team and sending them on 
happy and rejoicing^ in the morning. Grandpa w^as a 
justice of the peace for a great many years. 

When Charley was seven and I nine, our mother could 
no longer walk with us, and Aunt Margaret had given up 
her school months before to be our mother's companion, 
and our school friends showed a tender interest in us that 
we have not forgotten. Then camie a day when Aunt 
Margaret drew us motherless children to her and told us 
w^e were to go to grandpa's with her to make it our 
home for a time at least. 

17 



Oh, Heavenly Father, look zvith tender mercy and 
helpfidness upon every motherless child! The kindest 
human attention cannot eradicate the hopeless despair in 
the hearts of such children. No one understands them, 
and they do not understand themselves. It takes so long 
to become adjusted to new conditions and their loss. 

There was always a cheery welcome at grandpa's home. 
I cannot recall an unkind or sharp word uttered there. 
They were gentle in speech and manner; there was al- 
ways plenty; and beauty, and culture, and refinement, 
and a spiritual atmosphere about it all. The house stood 
back from the pike, and after grandma had been called 
to her heavenly home, and grandpa grew older, he would 
draw his rocking-chair to the open door, where he would 
sit and sing softly. 

Again I say, blessed memory. 



18 



BACK TO OUR FATHER'S HOME 

When we went again to our father's home his niece, 
our Cousin Mary, was the housekeeper. Later a new 
mother came to us, so sweet, so gentle, and kind, and as 
long as my delicate brother Charley lived, she loved and 
cared for his as tenderly as she could for her own ; and 
as long as she lived we Were good and true friends. 

I shall always hold dear the memory of her in that 
home, yet it never seemed home to me again after we 
went to grandpa's to live. Three babies came into our 
new mother's home while I remained there, a boy and 
two girls, and six afterwards. These half-brothers and 
sisters and their families are dear to me. 



19 



THE GRAPEVINE SWING 

When I was a boy on the old plantation, 

Down by the deep bayou, 
The fairest spot in all creation, 

Under the arching blue. 
When the wind came over the cotton and corn. 

To the long, slim loop I'd spring, 
With brown feet bare and hat-brim torn, 

And swing in the grapevine swing. 

Chorus 

Swinging in the grapevine swing. 
Laughing where the wild birds sing. 

Oh, to be a boy with a heart full of joy, 
Swinging in the grapevine swing. 

Out o'er the water lilies bonnie and bright, 

Back to the moss-grown trees, 
I laughed and shouted with a heart as light 

As a wild rose tossed by the breeze. 
A mocking-bird joined in my reckless glee, 

I longed for no angel's wings ; 
I was just as near heaven as I wanted to be, 

Swinging in the grapevine swing. 



20 



I'm weary at morn, I'm weary at night, 

I'm fretted and sore at heart, 
And time is strewing my locks with grey, 

As I wend through the fevered mart. 
I'm tired of the world, with its pride and pomp, 

And fame seems a worthless thing; 
I'd barter it all for one day's romp 

And a swing in the grapevine swing. 

Chorus 

Swinging in the grapevine swing. 
Laughing where the wild birds sing. 

I would I were away from the world today, 
Swinging in the grapevine swing. '^ 



21 



SERMONS IN FLOWERS 

The flowers appear on the earth, the time of the sing- 
ing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard 
in the land. — Solomon ii, 12. 

The common kind of flowers! Lord, you made a lot 

o' them ! 
The daisy in the medder is as clean as any gem ; 
The wild rose in the thicket is the ripest kind o' red — 
It's purty, and it's happy, look at how it holds its head. 

Them little dutchman's breeches is a favorite o' mine ; 
I like to stumble on 'em with my eyes an' catch their 

shine. 
An' then the johnny-jump-ups, noddin' soft when I go by, 
An' as blue an' glad an' helpful as the ca'm midsummer 

sky. 

The blazin' dogwood blossoms! How they flash along 

the road — 
Come a-bloomin' in a minute,, till a feller thinks it's 

snowed ! 
Lord, the haw-tree holds a sermon that is sent direct 

from you ; 
An' the bendin' cherry branches, an' the elder-bushes, 

too. 

22 



There's the perky dandelion bobbin' up so fresh an' bold, 
Till the whole endurin' hillside has its polkydots of gold ; 
An' the blossomin' May apple hidin' underneath the 

trees, 
Sends a tinglin' sort o' flower till it coaxes out the bees. 

The common kind o' flowers! Lord, I guess they like 

to grow 
An' to fill the air with gladness just because you love 

them so. 
Lord, I try to understand them an' my heart beats in 

accord, 
When I bend to whisper to 'em, "For this blessing, thank 

the Lord." 

—W. D. Nesbit. 



23 



THE INEVITABLE 

I like the man who faces what he must 

With step triumphant and a heart of cheer; 

Who fights the daily battle without fear; 
Sees his hopes fail, yet keeps unfaltering trust 
That God is God — that somehow, true and just 

His plans work out for mortals ; not a tear 

Is shed when fortune, which the world holds dear, 
Falls from his grasp — better with love a crust 
Than living in dishonor; envies not, 

Nor loses faith in man ; but does his best, 
Nor ever murmurs at his humbler lot; 
But with a smile and words of hope, gives zest 

To every toiler. He alone is great 

Who by a life heroic conquers fate. 

— Sarah Knowles Bolton. 



24 



UNC MOSE' RECKONIN'S 

De Lawd mek black en de Lawd mek white, 
He mek de day en He mek de night ; 
He mek de wrong en He mek de right — 

I reckon He knowed. 
I reckon He knowed, chile, 

Des whut He do. 
He mek de teahs, but all de while 
He plannin' de laugh en He plannin' de smile- 
I reckon He knowed, chile, 

Des whut He do ! 

De Lawd mek joy en de Lawd mek woe; 

He mek de trials dat fret yo' so, 

En He mek de road dat yo' gotter go— 

I reckon He knowed. 
I reckon He knowed, chile. 

Des whut He do ! 
He mek de stones dat hu't yo' feet, 
But He coaxin' de roses, red en sweet — 
I reckon He knowed, chile, 

Des whut He do ! 

De Lawd mek dahk, but He mek de mo'n. 
He mek de rose en He mek de tho'n; 
He mek us all — des sho's yo' bo'n — 

I reckon He knowed. 
I reckon He knowed, chile. 

Des whut He do ! 
He know whut bes' fo' yo' en me, 
En I reckon He see whut we cain't see — 

Des whut He do! '^ 



25 



THE FIRST JOURNEY 

With the exception of a visit to my mother's foster- 
mother — Aunt Rebecca Robe at Winchester, Ohio — I 
made my first journey in the spring of 71. Our mother's 
cousins had invited me to spend a school vacation with 
them in West Virginia. It was through the intercession 
of my father's brother, Uncle George, and my step-moth- 
er's father. Grandpa Bennett — one of nature's noblemen 
— that my father finally permitted me to accept the invi- 
tation. Cousin Nelson met me at Parkersburg, and took 
me to his home at Morgantown. At the close of the vaca- 
tion I was to return to H — , but kind Providence brought 
Cousin Frank and Mary to my rescue. They took me 
to their home in the Alleghany mountains, and it was my 
home for several years. I am as confident as I am of 
anything in this world that it was part of a divine plan 
and in answer to my mother's prayers, for they helped 
me to help myself, or find myself in the work for which 
I was fitted. 

I became a teacher, teaching in the winter, attending 
school in the summer. I was one of a large family there, 
and I felt at home. I shall always have a deep sense of 
gratitude to those dear ones who had faith in me, and 
the wisdom: to guide me in the right path. I was with 
them almost seven years, but went back to Charley for 
several months, the year he went home to our mother. 

One of my dearest treasures is the American flag in 
white marble which he chiseled before he was fifteen 
years of age. 

Yet this one thing I learn to know 

Each day more surely as I go. 

That doors are opened, ways are made, 

Burdens are lifted or are laid 

By some great law unseen and still, 

Unfathomed purpose to fulfill, 

— Helen Hunt Jackson. 
26 



THE WEST VIRGINIA HILLS 

Oh, the West Virginia hills, 

How majestic and how grand, 
With their summits bathed in glory, 

Like our Prince Immanuel's land. 
Is it any wonder, then, 

That my heart with rapture thrills 
As I stand once more with loved ones 

On those West Virginia hills? 

Oh, the West Virginia hills, 

Where my childhood hours were passed, 
Where I often wandered lonely. 

And the future tried to cast. 
Many are our visions bright, 

Which the future ne'er fulfills. 
But how sunny were my day-dreams 

On those West Virginia hills. 

Oh, the West Virginia hills. 

How unchanged they seem to stand, 
With their summits pointed skyward, 

To the great Almighty's land. 
Many changes I can see, 

Which my heart with sadness fills, 
But no changes can be noticed 

In those West Virginia hills. 

Oh, ye W>st Virginia hills, 

I must bid you now adieu, 
In my home beyond the mountains 

I shall ever dream of you. 
In the evening time of life. 

If my Father only wills, 
I shall still behold the vision ,^ 

Of those West Virginia hills. 



OUT WEST 

I found a great many changes in coming to Nebraska. 
First, I found very soon I was alone practically with mly 
own judgment to rely on and my own efforts to make 
good from, for the first time in my life. At the call of a 
half-brother I had come to Nebraska for better oppor- 
tunities in school-teaching, leaving West Virginia, with 
its beauty, its freedom, and charming hospitality "back 
east." This was the west, and at that time ('78), an un- 
developed west. 

The station at which I alighted was at the edge of the 
sand-hills (now those hills are farm lands). There were 
no sidewalks of any description in the village, the sta- 
tion was a long distance out, and the sand was almost 
shoe top deep. My half-brother failed to meet the train, 
but the mail carrier's son (Johnny Phillipar) gave his 
new teacher a friendly welcome. There was not one 
thing in that village that I could see then, or since, that 
was inviting or interesting, except a good schoolhouse 
and some people. It had been a village of considerable 
size at one time, but was fast declining. It had gone the 
pace that kills, and was killed when the county seat had 
been removed by election that spring to the center of the 
county, and the railroad had found another terminus. It 
was interesting to look out of the window in the morn- 
ing and see houses that had seemed fixtures the evening 
before traveling across the prairie on wheels ; some went 
one direction, some another, all to the more promising 
towns round about. Even the brick courthouse was taken 
down and removed to the new county seat, which had at 
that time but one house, and that a farmhouse. Now it 
is a splendid town of more than 1,500 population, and has 
fine schools and churches. 

The village people had withheld the county records 

28 



until some provision had been made for their safe hous- 
ing The people of the new county seat, and all around 
about it, decided thev would take them by force, if need 
be and poured into the village in great numbers— a mob 
of' people— though there was no disturbance to speak of. 
They secured satisfaction, and went quietly to their 
homes My temperature assumed a normal condition as 
I saw them wend their way across the sandhills, and the 
school work of the day proceeded as usual. 

I took many long walks alone on the prairie. It was 
early summer when I arrived, and away from the sand- 
hills and north of the village, the prairie was like a wav- 
ing sea of grass, more than knee high ; the wind swept 
it this way and that. It was fascinating to watch it and 
be out in it. As far as the eyes could reach nothing but 
prairie and sky, only a few trees and houses here ana 
there There were new and pretty flowers, and some- 
times I would stand still and listen to the sweetest bird 
notes I ever heard— the song of the meadow-lark ; and to 
this day I know nothing so cheery or that inspires greater 
happiness. I found some fine people in the village whose 
friendship for me will endure all through the rest of my 
journey. First, he who later became my husband, and 
who was also a newcomer there ; Mrs. Frances C. Stem, 
whose husband was the county treasurer; Mrs. I D. 
Evans, and LiUie; the Phillipar family (Mr. Phillipar 
was director of the school board), the family of Mr. 
David Blackburn, Mrs. Heatherington, and the family 
of the county superintendent of schools, Mr. J. H. Sears. 
Twice Mr. Sears and I were applicants for the same 
school. He was a college man from Massachusetts, and 
as fine a man as one would meet anywhere. He had 
taught the village school for some time, but there vvas 
some objection to his holding the two positions. He 
passed on years ago, yet my memory often dwells on his 
Christian example and noble life. He was from our first 



29 



a,cquaintance my friend, and after I had secured the 
school I would often find him at the door on Friday 
afternoon when school was dismissed to take me to 
their home to stay over Sunday. Their home was on a 
homestead two miles out, but it was bright and cheery; 
there was a beautiful home life, good taste, flowers, 
and books. Indeed, I never knew a home where the 
companionship of good books seemed to mean more to 
the owners. 

Mrs. Stein is artist, musician, and poetess, but best 
of all she is a friend. Her paintings were an inspiration 
to me, and if I have since achieved anything worth while 
in that way, she should have due credit. She lives in Illi- 
nois now, and delights me occasionally with her poetry; 
this at one time: 

For you I have a great big wish 
In form, a great big cut-glass dish. 
But as my purse will not permit 
(Since purse and heart are a misfit) 
You have the wish in place of it. 
You may go to the stores and buy what you wish 
In Haviland ware or a cut-glass dish, 
But search the stores from end to end 
You never can find the heart of a friend. 
But you'll find the heart in the trinket I send. 
There is kindly thought with love interwoven. 
Into every stitch of this very small token. 
And it spells out a word in language unspoken, 
Afriendshipunbroken. 

Such help as we can give each other in this world is 
a debt to each other ; and the man who perceives a supe- 
riority or a capacity in a subordinate, and neither con- 
fesses nor assists it, is not merely a withholder of kind- 
ness, but a committer of injury. — Riiskin. 

30 



ACROSS THE CHANNELS OF THE PLATTE 

The numerous channels of the Platte river were 
crossed and a new county entered for still better oppor- 
tunities in school work. I had taught one year in the 
"village" and one on the military reservation near by, 
and now I had come to another village — a very small and 
scattering one — and it was destined to become my home 
from that day to this. 

Somehow the sunshine seemed more radiantly bright 
and cheery on this side of the channels ; it may have been 
due partly to reflected light from the yellow sunflowers 
which grew in great thickets about here ; tall, strong, and 
stately they stood for years, then completely disappeared. 

Mr. John Mallilieu was the county superintendent of 
schools at the time I came here, and until his death a few 
days ago he was our esteemed friend. 

At the close of that summer term of school ('80) our 
marriage occurred. 

The next spring as we were starting for church one 
Sunday morning, the director of the school board called 
and offered me the summer school, stating he was doing 
so by the unanimous consent of the school board, school 
to begin the next day. My certificate had expired. He 
replied it had been arranged to send one of the board to 
the county seat to have it renewed that day if I ac- 
cepted. I did so, and the following morning found me 
again in the schoolroom. It was the last term when all 
the village school children were crowded in one room. 

31 



I look down the aisles and into the faces of those pupils 
today (in memory) and how near they seem! 

One boy's eyes always showed, more than any I knew, 
a desire for more and more knowledge; he applied him- 
self energetically and faithfully to his tasks. His work 
with that of his older sister, was as near perfect as any 
I ever saw. The younger sister, happy and full of play, 
cared more for the dolls and apples she thought she 
secreted in her desk than for study, but I never found her 
wholly unprepared. All these are gone long ago, and 
many more. The boy became a fine man and at the time 
of his death was holding a position of trust and respon- 
sibility with a railroad company in Cheyenne, Wyoming. 

I knew those pupils well, their ambitions, and their 
habits. I have tried to follow those who Imve taken up 
their life-work in this and other states. A history could 
be written of them. 

At the expiration of the first month of that school, Mr. 
Charles Lamberson, the treasurer of the school board, 
surprised me by presenting me with a warrant for the 
salary of the entire term. His confidence was rewarded 
by faithful and well-rendered duty. 

On the last afternoon of that school I found on my 
desk a tall glass cake-stand (much used in those days). 
It was piled high with fruits and candies in which candy 
hearts predominated, a wreath around it all, and a note 
signed by the pupils, asking me to teach their school 
again. The loving thought in the hearts of those children 
is the most precious thing I could wish to cherish from 
them. Many are not living, many are scattered far and 
wide. One is head physician in the Battle Creek sani- 
tarium and comes to see me whenever he returns here. 

While the village on the south of the channels was 

32 



losing its life, the one in the valleys of the Platte and 
Wood was taking on new life ; not rapidly but surely, and 
every house, and church, and school gave inspiration for 
still greater things. There was at that time a good com- 
munity spirit, and this could have been called a friend- 
ship village. 

As the village and community expanded and business 
duties became more arduous, the community spirit grew 
less — smlall circles have taken its place as it is in our 
cities, which recalls to mind the prayer of the good old 
deacon who prayed, "Oh Lord, bless me and my wife, my 
son John and his wife, us four, and no more, Amen." 



33 



A BIT OF PHILOSOPHY 

Learn to rely on your own judgment. Stand on your 
own feet ; it is usually as safe, and often more consistent 
than that offered you free. 

The blunt, outspoken man or woman who prides him- 
self on giving his ''honest opinion anyway," is too rude to 
be honest, if it makes another unhappy. 



The goodness and greatness of this world is to be 
found quite as often among the humble folks as among 
those who travel in airships. 



The best educated, cultured, and refined people are 
slow to criticise others. 

When your friends do not let you know they are 
pleased with your successes as well as sad in your sor- 
rows, it proves there is something wrong with the hearts 
of your friends and not with your heart. 



34 



WHAT IS GOOD 

What is the real good? 
I asked in musing mood. 
"Order" said the law court; 
''Knowledge" said the school; 
"Truth" said the wise man ; 
"Pleasure" said the fool; 
"Love," said the maiden; 
"Beauty" said the page; 
"Freedom" said the dreamer; 
"Home" said the sage; 
"Fame" said the soldier; 
"Equity" the sear. 
Spake my heart full sadly: 
"The answer is not here." 
Then within my bosom 
Softly this I heard: 
"Each heart holds the secret; 
Kindness is the word." 

— John Boyle O'Reilly. 



THE CALL OF THE WEST 

The haze on the far horizon, 

The tint of an auburn sky, 
The infinite ocean of wheat fields 

With the wild geese flying high. 
The hum of the busy binder. 

The laugh, the song, the jest, 
All of earth's wild freedom — 

This is the call of the west. 

The crisp, frost air of the winter, 

The sun in a tropic sky, 
The snow-shoe tramp up the river, 

The curler's call "Tee Hi." 
The northern lights in the heavens. 

The healthiest land and the best. 
The nearest to life that is nowhere 

Except in the land of the west. 

'Tis a land of hope and promise. 

Where a man is known by his worth, 
To the Russ, Icelander, or Saxon, 

No matter the land of his birth. 
To each and to all there's a welcome 

In this land of liberty blessed, 
Oppression and tyranny elsewhere. 

But not in the land of the west. 

36 



'Tis a land that is free from tradition, 

Where a man meets a friend as a man, 
Where people are up and are doing — 

They can, for they know they can ! 
'Tis a land that is fast becoming 

The home of the wanderers' quest, 
Where the patriot sings with devotion : 

My country, the land of the west. 

And far, far away o'er the ocean, 

A sister, a sweetheart, a wife, 
Is longing and waiting and wishing 

To obtain a renewal of life 
In this land where for all there is plenty, 

That they may enjoy with the rest. 
The fulfillment of hope and of promise — 

This is the call of the west. ^ 



37 



JOSEPH LOCKHART BOARDMAN 

From early childhood the family of' Mr. Boardman 
have been our friends. He became publisher and editor 
of the Highland News about 1852, and continued it until 
he was stricken blind thirty-three years later. Mr. 
Boardman had learned the printing business from the 
father of William Dean Howells, and was a fellow-work- 
man with the son. After his blindness they moved from 
Hillsboro to Columbus, Ohio, and at the age of sixty he 
learned to use the typewriter well, carrying on his cor- 
respondence in this way, and in wanting many poems for 
his friends. He bore himself like some distinguished 
general. He w^as a man of broad information and al- 
most to the time of his death was much consulted. In 
addition to his blindness he was deaf for fourteen years. 

One of his finest characteristics and worthy of emula- 
tion was that he met sorrow and disaster nobly. He 
believed "In ourselves are victory and defeat." He was 
a Christian man, as one may see by reading his lines 
which follow : 

THE PEACE OF GOD 

"Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is 
stayed on Thee, because he trusteth in Thee." 

In perfect peace whose mind is stayed on God, 
Dear fellow traveler through this earthly life, 
Who has been called to bear its pain and strife. 
Thou, who in sorrow^'s paths hast bravely trod, 
And patiently endured the chastening rod, 
May God bestow on thee that peace of mind 
That I have known in my old age, and blind. 

38 



O precious boon of calm content and rest, 
If our Heavenly Father's will resigned, 
Who loves us all, and knoweth v^hat is best. 
Dear Father, help us all to trust in Thee, 
Thy will be done, whate'er Thy v^ill may be, 
And keep us in Thy watchful care and love. 
Till Thou shalt call us to Thy home above. 

One of the last letters he wrote before the fall which 
caused his death at 87 years was written to me, but was 
not mailed until after his death; in it he gave many 
facts of Ohio history. 

One of the most valued tokens received on our silver 
wedding day is the following: 

To Mr. and Mrs. Hostetler, Shelton, Neb., on their sil- 
ver wedding day, Sept. 21, 1905: 

Dear Ella, I first knew you when a child. 
With grief for your dear mother almost wild. 
For you had lost your dearest friend on earth. 
So loved by all who knew her modest worth. 
Now in my old age spared beyond fourscore, 
On this, your silver wedding day, once more 
To you and your good husband, dear old friends. 
This little token of my love I send. 
As you today your marriage vows renew, 
May God's rich blessings rest on both of you; 
May it, dear friends, your happy fortune be 
With joy your golden wedding day to see, 
And when this fleeting earthly life is o'er 
May we all meet where friends shall part no more. 

So, my dear Ella, earnestly prays the friend of 
your childhood, 

Joseph Lockhart Boardman. 

39 



COLUMBUS 

Behind him lay the grey Azores, 

Behind the gates of Hercules; 
Before him not the ghost of shores, 

Before him only shoreless seas. 
The good mate said, "Now must we pray, 

For lo ! the very stars are gone ; 
Speak, Admiral, what shall I say?" 

"Why say, 'Sail on and on!' " 

"My men grow mut'nous day by day; 

My men grow ghastly, wan, and weak." 
The stout mate thought of home; a spray 

Of salt wave wash'd his swarthy cheek. 
"What shall I say, brave Admiral, 

If we sight naught but seas at dawn?" 
"Why, you shall say at break of day: 

'Sail on ! sail on ! and on !' " 

They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow, 

Until at last the blanch'd mate said: 
"Why, now, not even God would know 

Should I and all my men fall dead. 
These very winds forget their way. 

For God from these dread seas is gone. 
Now speak, brave Admiral, and say — " 

He said: "Sail on! and on!" 



40 



They sailed, they sailed, then spake his mate : 

"This mad sea shows his teeth tonight. 
He curls his lip, he lies in wait. 

With lifted teeth as if to bite! 
Brave Admiral say but one word; 

What shall we do when hope is gone?" 
The words leaped as a leaping sword: 

"Sail on! sail on! and on!" 

Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck. 

And thro' the darkness peered that night. 
Ah, darkest night! and then a speck — 

A light ! a light ! a light ! a light ! 
It grew, a star-lit flag unfurled! 

It grew to be Time's bust of dawn ; 
He gained a world ! he gave that world 

Its watchword: "On! and on!" 

— Joaquin Miller. 

This poem has strengthened my courage many times, and 
when I might have hesitated I go on and on. 



41 



SUNSETS 

A California friend who visited us recently stood at 
the large west window in our sitting-room and exclaimed 
at the beautiful Nebraska sunset. We have had the priv- 
ilege of seeing it for many years from the same point of 
view, but had not realized so fully before what a great 
privilege it is. After the sun has disappeared the soft 
glow lingers on in the twilight. We have seen the sun 
set on the Atlantic and on the Pacific oceans, where it 
touches the crest of the billows and colors them in rose, 
silver, yellow, and grey. We have watched it on Salt 
Lake, where it seemed nearer to us than anywhere on 
account of its intense colors, and the changes they make 
as the sun sinks lower and lower. You do not want to be 
interrupted, and as it passes from sight it tints moun- 
tain, sky, water, and tree-tops with those same colors. 

We saw it another time at Culpeper, Virginia, like a 
great ball of fire above the Blue Ridge mountains; as it 
dropped closer it sent its rays along the tops of the Blue 
Ridge far and wide. 

In Berne, Switzerland, we climbed to the roof of our 
hotel to see the "Alpine Glow" after the sun had set 
behind the Alps. We were told that it was not always to 
be seen, and this was one of the days that it left no 
reflection. 



42 



THE WEST 

What know ye, who dwell at our easternmost verge, 
Where on the Atlantic some pygmy states merge, 
Of lands lying westward, a limitless stretch 
Where jagged horizons the mountain peaks etch 
In purple and silver — what know you, I say, 
Who live on the edge of the dawning of day. 
Of westerly countries unpillaged of pelf — 
Know you that the W^est is a world in itself? 

"West" — what does it mean when you think of the word? 
With mirth unprovoked you have probably heard 
The country that lies on this side of the stream 
That good old De Soto discerned in a dream. 
You've heard speak of the land that lies there 
As ''West" — Oh, you ignorant one, have a care; 
Were East blotted out it could live on alone — 
This West with a sea, earth, and sky all its own. 

Somewhere in the unending reaches that lie 
Beyond where the Father of Waters glides by. 
The West has beginning (of end there is none) 
And onward it sweeps with the sweep of the sun. 
Its valleys unmeasured, its mountains unnamed. 
Its rivers unfettered, its forests untamed. 
Its deserts untrod save by pixy or elf — 
The West is a w^hole wondrous world in itself. 

Sometimes when the gods have been good to you, take 
Some coin from your horde and a pilgrimage make 
Out into the land that your fancy has drawn. 
Ride day after day — aye, and night after night 
Where unexplored wonder-worlds surfeit the sight — 
Then hide your old notions 'way back on the shelf 
And own that the West is a world in itself. ^* 

43 



WHEN OUR BOAT PUT OUT TO SEA 

We spent the day in old and new Quebec, seeing its 
places of interest, riding on its street cars, climbing to 
the heights, looking down on the great St. Lawrence 
river, and at 5 o'clock in the afternoon — June 17, 1910 — 
we stood on the deck of the magnificent boat, the "Em- 
press of Ireland," where we had taken first-class pas- 
sage, and as it slowly left the pier the hundreds of people 
assembled there to see us off, waved frantically to those 
on board. We vv^atched with keen interest, and respond- 
ed to the weaving though there was not a familiar face 
among them all. No one on deck seemed sad, no one 
seemed happy, all seemed thoughtful. 

There were arms, baskets, and boxes full of beautiful 
flowers for many of the passengers. 

We watched on deck until the twilight deepened and 
there was nothing more to see except the broad water. 
Wq had put off a letter for home at the last mailing 
place — Rimouski — and then we went to our stateroom. 
Mrs. Lees, the wife of the conductor of our party, fol- 
lowed us and placed in our arms an immense bunch of 
the most beautiful white roses we ever saw, tied with 
white ribbon and the card bore the name of our own 
home W. C. T. U. to us. Mrs. Lees had been commis- 
sioned to get them. Here was a personal touch with 
home that was strong and sincere ; it added to our happi- 
ness through all the journey into nine countries. It 
helped us to more fully appreciate the great paintings 
we saw in those countries, it went with us in the palaces, 

and it stays with us today as a beautiful act of kindness. 

44 



A large bundle of letters from numerous friends had 
been given us to be read at certain times and places ; they 
were all enjoyed, but the reader knew that other things 
would require attention "on the other side," so most of 
them were read in crossing. There were various pack- 
ages with notes of loving remembrance, and a morocco- 
covered notebook bearing the inscription, ''My Trip 
Abroad." In the latter the items of great interest to us 
were the sighting of three icebergs south of Labrador, 
the sounding of the foghorn for the first two or three 
days, keeping in touch with the things of the world, even 
to the stock markets, through the Marconigrams which 
were published on board in the Empress Daily News, 
and distributed gratis at breakfast each morning, taking 
the "log" each day, and marking on our map our exact 
route. We reached the most northern point June 22, 
latitude S7\ longitude 23°. Walking eight times around 
the boat to make a mile, sitting wrapped in a rug on a 
steamer chair watching others do the same, laughing, 
always laughing as they went hurrying by, jostling any- 
one going in the opposite direction ; sitting by an open 
fire in the most palatial music room we were ever in, 
and listening to the concerts given there. Reading in the 
library, attending services on Sunday morning (we had 
sailed on Friday). W^itching a woman and tv^^o little 
children— a boy and girl of perhaps six and eight, with 
their books— a lot of them. They could scarely wait to 
hear the books read, as eager listeners as we have ever 
seen. They cared not it seemed for the schools of por- 
poises which others crowded the railing to see, or any- 
thing on board but their books. We had games on deck 
that caused as much hilarity as you will find anywhere 
on terra firma. Great preparations were made for a con- 



45 



cert which was given the last evening on board, for the 
benefit of a sailors' home. All stewards wxre courteous 
and helpful. Splendid meals, and twice each day hot 
chicken broth with rice was brought to us on deck, we 
could have food at any time for the asking; and the tea 
rooms were open and free at all times. 

On the sixth day the sky was less grey in the morning 
and by four in the afternoon the sun was shining as we 
came in sight of Ireland from the north, and a moun- 
tain-like island — Inishtrahull. North of it were great 
buildings with fences, all painted white, and the greens of 
"Old Ireland" made a beautiful background for it. Our 
speed was less as we drew nearer land. We saw Castle 
Rock and the Giant's Causeway very plainly, and as 
we slowly sailed down the North Channel we were almost 
in speaking distance, it seemed, with the people of Ire- 
land, whom we could see very plainly. It grew dark 
before we entered the Irish sea, and the next morning we 
were at anchor at Liverpool. We had breakfast on 
board, then all bags and baggage were sent to the custom- 
house and the passengers hurried off in their best attire. 
We turned on the bridge and looked the boat over, and in 
our hearts was a feeling of gratitude and thankfulness 
to the beautiful boat that had carried us safely through 
the deep waters. Our first day out we had made 54 
miles, sailing late in the day; the next 436 miles, the 
next 405 miles, the next 416 miles, the next 416 miles, 
and the last 435 miles. 

For many kind attentions in Europe we are indebted 
to the three Fry sisters of Omaha — Annie, Alice, and 
Bessie ; Dr. and Mrs. Lees, Prof. Wm. F. Dann, Mr. A. 
W. Beckman, Miss Kate Field, Mrs. W. D. Fitzgerald, 
Mr. E. E. Walton, and all others of Lincoln ; Mr. A. C. 

46 



Loomis, of Omaha, Miss Ida Taylor of Exeter, Miss 
Lillian Wilson of Chicago, Miss Laura Murray of North 
Platte, Miss Mame Hughes of Denver, Rev. T. J. Bolger 
of Chicago, and to Lawrence and Jeannette Finney of 
Lincoln. The last two played a huge joke on most of 
us in showing us L-a-n-d on the homeward journey. 

We made the journey from Quebec to Liverpool in 
six days and fourteen hours. 



47 



TWILIGHT 

As we sit in the evening twilight our thoughts turn to 
the events that made the history of the town in which we 
Hve, and we know that each person who ever Hved here 
and did as much as plant a tree is a part of its history 

Joaquin Miller, "the poet of the Sierras," took com- 
paratively little pride in the fact that he wrote poems, 
but his great happiness came from the trees and flowers 
he had planted with his own hands, and watched grow. 

When we came there were very few trees either in 
the village or country ; now the visitor usually speaks of 
our trees and well-shaded streets. 

We see all about us the great strides progress is mak- 
ing in the town, country, and state, and we see, too, the 
restless energy that is helping it along. , 

From a village of perhaps less than two hundred when 
we first knew it, we now have a population of over one 
thousand. In the easy-going conditions of the early days 
when people waited for they knew not what, hurry was 
not in evidence ; the steps were slower, and more restful, 
and there seemed plenty of time to be social and pleasant 
with everyone ; it is all hurry and bustle now, though the 
funerals, especially of the older residents, are well at- 
tended; and in any charitable need the people are gener- 
ally liberal. 

We emerged from the one-room school building to one 
larger, then to a larger one still, until our boys and girls 
are housed now in a new $40,000 building. 



48 



We have good churches — six of them — there should be 
but two or three. 

We have many miles of cement sidewalk. 

We have a splendid $9,000 district library, which is 
a boon to the community. In many of the country homes 
as well as those of the town are found all modern con- 
veniences necessary in this age of the world to health 
and happiness, with w^aterworks, and electric lights. 

Our farming land is no longer sold for a song, but has 
increased in value to such an extent that the moderately 
"well to do" must seek it elsewhere. 

In the good old days the one-horse shay was consid- 
ered a luxury; there is no room for them on our streets 
now, for the automobiles are parked in almost every 
available place. They cause part of the restless energy 
in several ways, sometimes by the placing of a mortgage 
that is difficult to lift. 

Back in '87 a Chautauqua reading course of four years' 
w^ork was organized with some of the brightest minds 
we have ever had in the town. After two years' time, 
one after the other had moved away, become discouraged, 
or dropped out until we alone were left. We continued 
and finished it in the next two years, also doing extra 
reading that gave us five seals on our diploma. In addi- 
tion to that we received a grade of 100 per cent on the 
regular reading for the year '91. We consider that one 
of our greatest achievements. Before and after and dur- 
ing that time we were studying and teaching art, being 
so engaged for nearly twenty years ; three of our paint- 
ings were exhibited at the World's Fair in Chicago in '93. 

Then came the woman's study club, and we have kept 
step in the town, the district, the state, and the nation. 
Its work in this town has been valuable, for it has been 

49 



a potent factor in two or three enterprises for the benefit 
of the town. 

The compilation of a family history which was pub- 
lished last spring was the work of several years, and with 
that, the most absorbing interest we have had for two 
years has been in the temperance cause, and in doing what 
we could to help get a dry Nebraska; and now that we 
are to have it next May our twilight is most peaceful and 
happy ; for we know that little children, wives, husbands, 
fathers, and sons will come into their rightful inheritance, 
and have their chance in life in Nebraska. 



50 



LET HIM KNOW IT 

When a fellow pleases you 

Let him know it; 
It's a simple thing to do — 

Let him know it ; 
Can't you give the scheme a trial? 
It is sure to bring a smile, 
And it makes it worth the while — 

Let him know it. 

You are pleased when anyone 

Lets you know it. 
When the man who thinks "well done. 

Lets you know it. 
For it gives you added zest 
To bring out your very best — 
Just because some mortal blest 

Lets you know it. 

When a fellow pleases you 

Let him know it; 
Why, it isn't much to do — 

Let him know it; 
It will help him in the fray, 
And he'll think his efforts pay ; 
If you like his work or way 

Let him know it. *' 



51 



TO MY HUSBAND 

In our life together for thirty-six years you have al- 
ways inspired me with confidence in myself, and in my 
ability to accomplish things. 

You have made possible the splendid trips I have had, 
and you made most of the plans for them, as you did in 
arranging the European trip, and my visit to all the great 
art galleries and great libraries in the United States. 

This book would be incomplete without the expressed 
assurance of my deep gratitude to you. 



52 



NEARING THE LAST GATE 

Oh, don't be sorrowful, darling! 

And don't be sorrowful, pray! 
Taking the year together, my dear 

There isn't more night than day. 

'Tis rainy weather, my darling. 
Time's waves they heavily run; 

But taking the year together, my dear, 
There isn't more cloud than sun. 

We are old folks now, my darling. 
Our heads they are growing grey ; 

But taking the year all round, my dear, 
You will always find the May. 

We have had our May, my darling. 

And our roses long ago ; 
And the time of year is coming, my dear, 

For the silent night and the snow. 

For God is God, my darling, 

Of night as well as day ; 
And we feel and know that we can go 

Wherever He leads the way. 

Aye, God of the night, my darling— 
Of the night of death so grim ; 

The gate that leads out of life, good wife. 
Is the gate that leads to Him. 

— Alice Gary. 
53 



OUT OF THE SILENCE 

An what can you say when the day is done 
And you've gone to your bed to rest? 

When the shadows come and the light has gone 
O'er the rim of the golden west. 

And a silvery beam of the moon creeps in 
As if in an aimless quest? 

What do you say 

When a kindly voice that you seem to know 
Out of the shadows speaks soft and low, 

"Well, what did you do today?" 

Oh, what can you say when you're all alone 
With the Master of all the tasks ? 

How much of a sin do have to own 
When the voice of the Master asks — 

How many things have you left undone 
Your studied answer makes ? 

What do you say 

When out of the shades of the silent night 
The Master speaks with the Master's right : 

"Well, what did you do today?" 

Thrice blest is he of the humble way 

Who sinks in his bed of rest — 
The rest he earned with a toiling day 

With love of his labor blest — 
Who hears the voice of his Master ask, 

And truthfully say, "My best." 
The man who can say 

"I've trod the way of my best intend, 
I've helped a friend and I've made a friend," 

To "What did you do today?" 

—John D. Wells. 
54 



A 



ill ill'lf 

liiiil 



